.3802A17 
1912 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS 

BY 

CAMPBELL  MASON 


POEMS 


BY 

CAMPBELL  MASON 


NEW  YORK 

THE  COSMOPOLITAN  PRESS 
1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 

The  Coimopolitan  Press 


TO 

FLORENCE  CARTIER 


CONTENTS 

LOVE  LYRICS 

PAGE 

Ax   PARTING 7 

THE    RE-MEETING 8 

THOSE  WERE  THE  DAYS 10 

I'VE  COME  TO  SAY  GOOD-BYE n 

METAMORPHOSIS 12 

PARALLEL    ROADS 13 

SHIP  OF  PASSIONATE  THOUGHTS 14 

THE    GUIDING     STAR 15 

Au  REVOIR,   AUF  WIEDERSEHEN,   FAREWELL    ...  15 

AWAY,  AWAY  BEYOND  THE  GRAY  HORIZON     .     .     .  16 

WHAT  LIFE  MEANS  TO   ME 17 

THE   CLOSED   DOOR 18 

WHEN    THE   DAWN    COMES 19 

A    BOATING    FANTASY 19 

LIKE  YOUR  FACE  EACH   SEASON'S  FLOWERS   ...  20 

IMPOSSIBILITIES 21 

INTERCHANGEABILITY 22 

THIS  Is  THE  FLOWER  You  GAVE  ME 23 

SONNETS 

THE   LANGUAGE   OF    MEREDITH' 27 

SHELLEY 27 

ON     READING     DICKENS 28 

MAURICE   HEWLETT 28 

THE  BRIDAL  WREATH 29 

SERIOUS  MELODIES 

AGAMEMNON    TO    THE    ASSEMBLED    HEROES    ...  33 

LAST  WORDS  OF  A  KING  OF  SEA- VIKINGS  ....  35 

THE  SONG  OF  OLD  MEN 37 


CONTENTS 


SERIOUS  MELODIES      (Continued)  PAGE 

A   ROCKY   MOUNTAIN    SUNSET 38 

NOBLESSE 39 

JOHN    HAY 40 

OVERHEARD  AT  THE  SHRINE 42 

OH,  How  I  GRIEVE  FOR  EVERY  SUMMER    ....  43 

COURAGE 44 

A  SPRING  SONG 44 

THE  HEART'S  WINTER 45 

DESTINY 45 

HURRIED  LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  OFFICE  ....  46 

THE  MOUNTAIN  KING 47 

Low  IN  THE  WEST  CREEPS  THE  SUN 48 

IGNIS    FATUUS 48 

WHEN  LIFE  WAS  ALL  A  DREAM 49 

INSCRUTABLE    PROVIDENCE 50 

A    WINTER    SCENE 50 

"AyvwoTos S1 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  BELL 53 

"CRAMMING" 54 

THE    TOREADOR 55 

G^EA'S  APOSTROPHE  TO  DIAN 56 

THE   ARISTOCRACY   OF   EASE 58 

TREAD  LIGHTLY  ON  THIS   SPOT 60 

SPECULATION 63 

SONG  TO  PROMETHEUS  IN  WINTER 64 

LIGHTER  VERSE 

LAMENT  OF  THE  UNIVERSAL  LOVER 67 

SOCIETY'S     REPLY 68 

EILEEN        69 


LOVE  LYRICS 


AT  PARTING 

I  HAVE  covered  your  body  with  kisses, 

I  have  bathed  that  dear  bosom  in  tears, 
As  we  shared  in  our  joys  together, 

As  we  shared  in  our  griefs  and  our  fears; 
And  the  riddle  is,  which  was  the  sweeter, — 

As  visions  of  both  will  arise, — 
The  pulsating  charms  of  your  Parian  arms, 

Or  the  sympathy  there  in  your  eyes. 

For  never  depression  had  sought  me, 

But  you  had  an  anodyne  near; 
And  never  a  head  pillowed  softer 

On  a  breast  so  more  splendidly  dear; 
And  never  swan  eyes  so  effulgent, 

Or  hands  fluttered  tenderly,  quite  — 
I  must  not  perpend,  lest  my  reason  have  end, 

An  existence  withouten  your  light. 

If  the  earth  had  stood  still  in  that  heaven, 

And,  pausing,  all  time  had  destroyed, 
That  period  could  not  have  buried, 

Those  moments  we  two  have  enjoyed: 
For  they  on  their  shimmering  pinions, 

Like  birds  on  their  own  airs  would  rise, 
To  an  inchoate  clime,  lacking  nought  but  a  time 

To  adjust  orbit-paths  in  its  skies. 

Then  these  moments  triumphant,  remembered, — 
Not  alone  for  their  sweet,  but  their  tears, — 

Its  time  would  become  and  the  minutes 
Be  magnified  into  its  years; 
7 


8  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

For  into  one  second  of  ours, 

A  world  of  exchanges  was  pressed, 
Sufficing  a  year  in  a  commoner  sphere, 

Or  in  a  less  sentient  breast. 

Or  fell  the  last  night  on  the  planet, 

Apart  —  and  yet  straight  would  we  hold, 
From  the  others  unseeing  and  frantic, 

To  the  Judgment-Seat,  jeweled  and  gold. 
For  your  presence  that  emulates  noonday, 

Would  light  us  a  path  thro'  the  gloom ;  — 
The   judged   would  wake,   and   your   radiance   take 

For  the  light  dawning  bright  after  doom. 

All  too  few  that  affinitive  bosom 

Discover,  or  know  it  when  found  — 
By  the  blindness  of  one  unperceiving, 

Or  the  other  in  diffidence  bound: 
But  we  knew  it,  and  felt  it,  and  proved  it. 

Where  one  blossom  sprang  saw  we  ten  — 
And  in  ages  unworn,  when  our  souls  are  reborn, 

We  shall  meet,  and  shall  know  it  —  again. 


THE  RE-MEETING 

WE  have  loved,  we  have  tarried  and  parted, 

We  have  drunk  each  of  each  to  the  dregs; 
We  have  lived  in  a  lifetime  an  hundred, 

Till  the  Now  of  the  Past  mutely  begs : 
And  the  Future  is  dead  as  the  Present, 

If  the  Now  is  turned  beggared  away; 
For  the  future  can  tone  to  the  past  all  its  own, 

And  make  of  the  present  its  day. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  9 

At  the  behest  of  one  high  and  mighty 

You  left  me  to  sail  overseas, 
To  learn  how  to  rival  the  songsters 

That  carol  in  pullulate  trees; 
And  the  heights,  once  aspired  and  envied, 

You  won,  and  you  left  far  behind  — 
I  toiled  with  mine  own,  lacking  you,  more  than  lone, 

With  a  Fortune  as  bright,  but  less  kind. 


And  the  seconds  and  minutes  and  hours, 

They  glide  in  their  pregnancy  by, 
A-sweeping  you  high  to  attainment  — 

But,  oh  !  where  am  I,  where  am  I ! 
And  expectant  my  ego  stands  striving 

In  vain  hypoborean  zones 
To  glimpse;  oh,  a  balm  patience  has  for  the  calm, 

But  her  fetters  ambition  disowns. 


And  yet  laurel-covered  you  seek  me, 

With  beauty  by  triumph  enhanced  — 
So  I  can  forget  mine  endeavor 

To  learn  how  yours  can  be  advanced: 
For  greatly-receiving  can  balance 

Accounts  with  who  greatly  bestows, 
By  striving  to  find  the  collateral  kind 

Of  currency,  welcome  to  those. 

The  sea  of  ambition  is  studded, 

With  sails  of  the  argonauts  fair; 
And  some  of  the  argosies  boldly 

Flaunt  pennants  of  ebony  there : 
So  why  on  the  struggle  continue, 

When  pirates  keep  watch  o'er  the  seas?  — 
Ephemeral  earth  yielded  me  all  her  worth, 

With  your  love  —  so,  then,  what  matters  these? 


io  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

This  haven  familiar,  this  bosom, 

This  mould  of  my  nocturnal  self, 
The  syncope  of  our  affection 

Has  rendered  more  precious  than  pelf. 
The  shallow  may  bleat  for  the  recent  — 

The  new,  love-untutored  will  pine, 
But  I'll  have  no  new  while  the  frequent  is  you, 

For  passion  is  mellowed  like  wine. 


THOSE  WERE  THE  DAYS 

THOSE  were  the  days  —  the  sun  and  the  moon, 
The  morning,  the  night  and  the  still  afternoon; 
The  breath  of  the  pines,  and  the  breeze  of  the  sea; 
The  god  that  was  I,  and  the  nymph  that  was  thee. 

Time  was  when  on  in  the  depths  of  the  wild 

Like  a  dryad  you  fled,  and  a  challenge  you  smil'd : 

As  the  God  mad  for  Daphne,  sped  on  by  desire, 

I'd  o'ertake  you,  and  there  in  Love's  pow'r  we'd  expire. 

The  late  summer  sun  ran  his  course  overhead; 
Unnoticed  the  stars  in  the  skies  reigned  instead, 
Ere  we'd  take  our  way  back,  where  the  eyes  of  the  night 
Could  not  witness  the  heav'n  of  our  further  delight. 

Of  Love  we  learnt  love,  when  in  mist  she  was  born: 
The  first  tingling  shock  of  her  primeval  morn ; 
The  sum  of  her  ecstatic  raptures  of  eld  — 
All  their  individual  blisses  we  held. 

We  wove  in  our  passion  the  sun  and  the  moon; 
Entwined  our  embrace  with  the  slant  afternoon: 
The  perfume  of  flowers,  the  breeze  of  the  sea, 
With  the  song  of  the  birds,  were  attuned,  Love,  to  Thee ! 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  n 

O  Love,  known  to  Youth,  to  itself  only  true, 
Untrammeled,  intense,  with  no  small  ends  in  view  — 
Oh,  why  is  Time  jealous  to  bring  love  an  end, 
When  Hours,  his  daughters,  are  kind  to  befriend ! 


I'VE  COME  TO  SAY  GOOD-BYE 

I'VE  come  to  say  Good-bye,  my  love, 
And  from  ourselves  to  screen  us ; 

For  if  I  linger  nigh,  my  love, 
Will  Folly  come  between  us. 

You  understand  why  I  would  leave: 
Not  that  I  love  you  less,  dear, 

But  that  I  prize  you  so,  'twould  grieve 
Me  sore  it  to  express,  dear. 

'Tis  that  I've  learned  to  love  too  well  — 

I  had  not  come  a-wooing, 
Had  I  but  known  a  woman's  spell, 

Could  be  my  heart's  undoing. 

I  thought  the  time  more  quick  would  fly 
In  Love's  guise  idly  straying; 

But  how  a  heart  which  plays  a  part, 
Becomes  the  part  it's  playing! 

I  thought  to  dally  here  awhile, 

And  go  in  ease  forgetting; 
I  had  not  counted  on  your  smile, 

A  sun  on  old  worlds  setting. 

Necessity's  not  changed  a  whit  — 

Intention  only  alters; 
I  needs  must  make  the  best  of  it, 

Altho'  my  heart  here  falters. 


12  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

Oh,  I  could  love  you  on  a  crust ; 

But  loving  so  were  losing. 
To  think !     I  go  because  I  must, 

When  I  could  go  for  choosing. 

But  counsel  never  spake  in  vain ; 

The  world  was  old  a-borning; 
And  Love  at  evening  oft  was  slain, 

When  need  looked  in  at  morning. 

Farewell !  we've  found  that  true  love  still 
Makes  sure  of  future  blisses ; 

'Tis  madness  else  that  slights  the  will, 
And  flies  to  kiss,  then  misses. 


METAMORPHOSIS 

WE  may  pine  for  the  things  that  we  haven't, 
And  of  those  that  we  like  we  may  dream; 

Yet  we  only  can  float  thro'  this  humdrum 
And  greyish  old  world  with  the  stream. 

And  our  minds  may  resemble  the  starling, 
That  wings  from  the  earth  to  the  blue; 

But  back  we  must  come  to  the  mundane 
And  all  things  pertaining  thereto. 

Too  late  did  I  see  her  to  own  her  — 
Too  late  did  we  each  feel  the  spell, 

For  Life  had  already  laid  rigid 
Our  lines  and  our  fealty  as  well. 

So  a  man  I  must  live  in  a  man's  world, 
And,  as  others,  grasp  love  while  she  flies ; 

But  the  ache  for  the  one  that's  denied  me, 
In  a  turbulent  heart  never  dies. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  13 

And  still  daily  the  mask,  long  acquired, 

Dissembling  an  outwardly  calm, 
We  must  wear  and  distill  from  forced  laughter 

The  poison  our  souls  to  embalm. 

How  I  sicken  of  all  the  dissembling, 
And  shrink  from  a  world  hard  as  steel. 

Oh !  for  once  to  ride  forth  on  an  impulse 
And  crush  her  with  love  that  was  real. 

Oh,  had  I  but  the  knowledge  of  godhead, 

Or  the  secret  of  Life's  alchemy, 
This  body  the  stars  to-night  shining 

Transformed  to  a  robin  would  see: 

And  then  I  would  be  friends  with  the  morning, 
And  her  fragrance  would  bear  me  aloft ; 

And  the  swaying  old  elm  would  embower 
My  sleep,  when  the  shadows  fell  soft: 

And  the  maiden  in  yonder  low  farmhouse, 
Whose  eyes  rival  deepest  blue  skies, 

In  the  morn  I  would  wake  with  glad  music, 
And  at  dusk  I  would  list  to  her  sighs. 


PARALLEL  ROADS 

( 
OUR  fates  lie  tangent  to  the  end, 

And  never  a  meeting  show; 
My  thoughts  surge  warm  'neath  the  mask  of  friend, 

Belying  that  name  of  snow. 

My  word  unto  another's  pledged; 

And  only  my  word  I  own: 
But  now  my  soul  in  its  growth,  full-fledged, 

Will  never  a  lie  condone. 


14  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

Oh !  what  are  walls  twix  lips  of  fire, 

To  duties  and  vows  that  rend 
Fond  hearts  from  heaven  and  earthly  desire? 

And  smile  as  you  can  —  a  Friend ! 


SHIP  OF  PASSIONATE  THOUGHTS 

My  thoughts  take  ship  and  o'er  your  perfect  bosom 
sail; 

My  hopes  take  wing  and  heavenward  are  in  flight; 

My  heart  is  new  for  just  one  glimpse  of  light; 
My  lips  are  dumb,  for  language  proves  of  no  avail. 

I  must  unlearn  the  old  and  find  some  higher  lore 
To  scale  the  heights  on  which  your  beauty  lives : 
Such  glory  to  the  heart  its  message  gives. — 

My  eyes  are  closed  —  mere  sight  can  understand  no 
more. 

Deep  in  the  heart  oft  wells  a  strain  of  melting  tone, 
But  which  the  mind  cannot  translate  to  earth ;  — 
With  my  whole  being  do  I  feel  your  worth, 

Yet  I  have  not  a  medium  to  make  it  known. 

My  soul,  new  found,  is  cradled  in  your  mystic  eyes; 
My  thoughts  are  pilgrims  bound  unto  your  shrine: 
And,  leaving  me,  they  are  no  longer  mine  — 

My  thought  —  my  soul,  my  hope  —  within  your  power 
lies. 

This    night's    a    gem,    and    from    all    others    radiant 
gleams  — 

Lack-lustre  they  in  that  they  held  not  you. 

My  mind  is  touched  with  Fancy's  ruddy  hue  — 
I  cannot  think  in  thoughts,  I  can  but  think  in  dreams, 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  15 


THE  GUIDING  STAR 

"Is  she  real  —  is  she  real  ?  "  to  my  soul  I  cried : 

And  my  soul  answered  back,  "  As  a  star, — 
That  high  in  the  heavens  doth  gleam  for  thee, 

As  dazzling,  as  bright,  as  far !  " 
"Is  she  good,  is  she  kind?" — the  oracle  said, 

"Can   bodies    celestial    be   ought? 
A  star  and  a  goddess  can  do  no  wrong  — 

Her  kindness  is  given  if  sought !  " 

Then  straight  I'll  build  me  an  altar  and  incense 

I'll  burn,  and  I'll  load  it  with  myrrh; 
I'll  be  suppliant,  priest,  and  acolyte, 

And  sacrifice  daily  to  her. 
As  a  mariner  with  eye  on  Areas  fixt, 

Steering  over  a  troubled  sea, 
My  gaze  on  a  brighter  star  shall  be, 

And  I  will  be  guided  by  thee ! 


AU  REVOIR,  AUF  WIEDERSEHEN,  FAREWELL 

You  said,  "  Farewell  " —  and  added,  "  Au  revoir  " — 
That  night  I  gave  you  all  my  heart's  devoir. 
You  trembled  as  you  sighed,  "  Farewell  " —  ah,  me ! 
That  fare  is  well  that  fares  me  back  to  thee. 

The  one  to  French  hearts  sends  a  chastened  pain ; 
The  like  to  Teutons'  gives  "  auf  weidersehen " ; 
B'Ut  oh !  what  agony  does  that  word  spell 
The    Anglo-Saxon    lover's    heart  —  "  farewell !  " 


16  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

There's  not  a  hope  I  breathe,  but  hopes  for  thee ; 
But  Hope's  a  ship  that  sails  uncertain  sea; 
And  where  Hope  flies,  he  sends  back  no  report: 
We  must  ourselves  lay  siege  before  the  court. 

So  I  return,1  ("farewell"  gives  that  permit,) 
And  watch  your  hopes,  to  learn  the  way  they  flit; 
And  if  they  intercept  not  mine,  I'll  search 
And  capture  all,  and  teach  them  where  to  perch! 


AWAY,  AWAY  BEYOND  THE  GRAY  HORIZON 
IN  THE  WEST 

AWAY,  away  beyond  the  gray  horizon  in  the  West 
There  is  an  isle  of  all  isles  the  blest; 
All  thro'  my  dreams  I  saw  it  floating  on  a  purple  sea, 
And  thro'  them  Love  a  message  bore  to  me. 

I  sailed !  and  by  the  memory  of  that  rosy  dream  I 

steered ; 

I  sailed!  and  the  sea-isle  of  my  dream  I  neared: 
And  guided  only  by  that  ardent  token  starred  above, 
When  day  was  quenched  in  shadow  and  in  love. 

My  snowy  sails  across  the  billows  quickly  bore  me 

hence; 

And  those  rare  perfumes  of  my  dream  from  thence 
Afar-off  welcome  me;  and  in  the  gentle  tepor  where 
The  semi-tropics  gleamed,  I  sought  her  there. 

Like  in  my  dream,  on  shore  she  stood,  her  arms  out- 
stretched to  me  — 

The  cypress  grove  enamored  of  the  sea, 

Its  amethyst  shade  caressing  her  —  she  smiled  the 
smile  I  dreamed: 

The  sea  and  heavens  also  smiling  seemed.    .    .    . 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  17 

My  sea-isle  Dream !  my  sea-isle  Beam !  the  star  that 

guided  me, — 

That  Star  of  Love,  that  trailed  the  way  to  thee, — 
Into  its  vernal  orbit  now,  doth  sigh  in  lyric  strain, 
And  argent  sails  my  sea-isle  seek  again. 

Once  more  I  come !  and  in  the  cool  of  cypress  shades 

I  stroll 

With  thee,  while  on  unceasing  billows  roll. 
No  more  I'll   face  the  orient  sun  to  seek  her  vasty 

shore  — 
My  sea-isle  Dream  I'll  hold  for  ever  more. 


WHAT  LIFE  MEANS  TO  ME 

WHAT  does  Life  mean  to  me?  — 
It  means  when  the  day  is  done, 
But  a  pair  of  gleaming  arms! 
And  freedom  from  self  on  a  breast 
Beating  joy,  or  whose  quiet  is  rest: 
This  meaning  is  more  clear  to  me 
Than  that  of  the  course  I  run, 
Or  the  precepts  of  the  psalms. 

And  life  means  this  in  the  morn  — 
And  I  feel  as  some  light  new-born, 
When  the  glitter  of  dew 
Is  abroad  with  the  new 
Night-forstered  wild-flower  scents: 
And  the  knowledge  that  near  arouind, 
The  dense  stir  of  man  can  be  found, 
Is  zephyred  from  mind 
By  the  flower-loved  wind, 
That's  born  where  the  nature-child  tents. 


i8  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

And  it  means  at  noon  all  this  to  me, 

When  my  god  and  my  life  overhead, 

In  his  heated  orb, 

All  the  mists  absorb, 

And  his  clouds  are  weaving  ahead 

To  cool  on  the  morrow  the  lea :  — 

It  means  but  a  swinging  bed  under  the  pines, 

With  crystals  of  aqua  afloat  in  the  wines, 

And  a  life  that  is  free, 

And  a  love  that  is  Thee ! 

And  when  the  occidental  sun 

Has  turned  the  sky  into  a  nun, 

And  her  rosary 

She  tells  to  me  — 

Let  nunneries  their  nuns  secrete, 

And  let  my  thoughts  and  steps  be  fleet 

The  tender  one  and  dear  to  greet; 

As  thro'  the  even  new  we  stroll, 

Her  deepest  eyes  into  my  soul ; 

And  impulses  and  beating  heart 

That  throb  for  me,  with  arms  apart  — 

Dear,  sculptured  havens  for  me  made, 

When  all  the  world  is  drowned  in  shade. 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

IT  is  useless  to  deny  you, 

For  your  spell  is  round  me  yet; 

Though  the  love  I  gave  passed  by  you, 
And  I  struggled  to  forget. 

But  my  thoughts  come  crowding  o'er  me, 
Though  I've  tried  to  close  the  gate  — 

God  have  pity!  still  before  me 
Looms  the  face  I've  tried  to  hate. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  19 

Lips  that  seemed  a  red  carnation  — 
I  have  sipped  their  honied  death; 

And  a  subtle  distillation 

Was  the  mystery  of  your  breath. 

Oh  !  the  passion  that  I  brought  you, 
And  the  dreams  I  dreamed  by  day ! 

Ah,  to  think !  a  strong  love  sought  you, 
And  was  rudely  turned  away. 

WHEN  THE  DAWN  COMES 

ALL  in  a  bright  and  rosy  dawning, 

All  in  a  fresh  bediamoned  morn, 
While  yet  the  slanting  rays  of  sunburst 

Floated  on  the  scented  airs,  new  born ; 
And  the  lark,  first  harbinger  of  daylight, 

As  shooting  up  on  glossy  wings, 
Pours  forth  his  artless  welcome  gladly, 

Ever  higher  sailing  as  he  sings. 

So  to  my  heart  she  brought  the  sunlight  — 

So  to  my  soul  the  morning  brought ; 
And  like  the  lark,  my  love  soared  upwards 

To  meet  the  light  I  long  had  sought. 
And  thro'  the  night  of  years  the  music 

Of  her  pure  being  echoed  thro' ; 
While  swift  the  dawn  of  her  affection 

Woke  dulcet  strains  of  rapture  new ! 

A  BOATING  FANTASY 

OVER  the  waters  gliding,  with  the  orb  of  night  abiding, 

On  the  soft-heaving  breast  of  the  stream; 

With  a  maiden  bright  to  love  you,  and  the  twinkling 

stars  above  you  — 
If  ever  in  life  a  dream  there  be  —  this  is  my  dream,  my 

dream. 


20  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

We  start  our  canoe  where  the  river  and  streams 

Mingle  together  to  murmur  the  themes 

Of  the  woodland,  heard  babbling  along; 

And  we  drift  with  the  tide,  in  a  rhythmic  glide, 

Like  a  song — lover's  song: 

Till  we  float  'round  the  bend  of  the  widening  river, 

Where  the  trees  on  the  shore  in  the  zephyrs  quiver, — 

Then  we  skim  on  the  lake  in  a  silvery  wake, 

And  drift  thro'  the  night,  like  a  bird's  leisured  flight, 

All  the  Summer  night  long. 

And  the  lake  —  mirrored  lake,  its  calm  bosom  we  break 

As  its  moon-loved  expanse  we  explore; 

With  the  night  —  fragrant  night,  at  its  most  perfumed 

height, 
Scented  by  wild  flow'rs  ashore. 

So   we  glide  —  gently  glide,   with  the  tide  —  flowing 

tide, 

And  if  ever  a  dream  there  be, 
This  is  my  dream  —  my  mid-summer  dream  — 
With  the  bright  stars  above,  and  the  maiden  I  love 
On  the  lake's  placid  bosom  to  be. 
And  I  would  that  my  life,  sans  all  trouble  and  strife, 
Could  always  be  half  so  free. 


LIKE  YOUR  FACE  EACH  SEASON'S  FLOWERS 

LIKE  your  face  each  season's  flowers  — 

I  have  seen  it  once  in  tears, 
Violet,  bathed  in  dewy  showers, 

Jewel  of  the  springing  years. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  21 

I  have  seen  it  wreathed  in  gladness, 

Rosy  as  the  bud  of  June; 
There,  a  columbine  soft  sadness 

Vigiling  the  pallid  moon. 

Oft  the  gay  and  warm  alluring 

Of  the  gladiola  there; — 
Flower-maid  for  me  enduring, 

Flower-love  to  me  how  fair ! 


IMPOSSIBILITIES 

I  CANNOT  bring  you  costly  blooms; 

I  cannot  drive  you  forth  in  state; 
I  cannot  bring  you  from  the  looms 

Their  priceless  weaves,  of  hues  ornate, 
To  drape  that  lovely  form. 

I  cannot  cover  you  with  gems, 
That  I've  seen  sparkle  on  that  snow; 

Nor  can  I  crown  with  diadems 
That  lustrous  hair  that  bind  me  so 
Within  its  meshy  storm. 

I  cannot  think  that  Plutus  holds 
The  mystery  within  those  eyes: 

Yet  Reason  rocks  when  he  enfolds 
That  loveliness,  as  rightful  prize, 
Complacent,  smug  and  dumb. 

I  cannot  bear  you  overseas, 

In  floating  palaces  of  steel. 
But  some  day  you  may  tire  of  these, 

And  wake  to  wish  to  thrill  and  feel 
Love's  touch, — then  bid  me  come. 


22  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

INTERCHANGEABILITY 
(Suggested  by  the  loveliness  of  


COULD  the  lilt  of  the  bulbul  be  liquefied, 
Or   the   madrigals   of   canaries   distilled, 

Or  the  pearl-notes  of  robins  and  thrushes  redyed 
To  Olympian  nectar,  that  gods  have  enthrilled  — 

I   would  quaff  not  of  these   when  the  toxicant  rare 

Of  thy  lips  I  could  pilfer,  so  delicate  fare. 


If  all  of  the  flashes,  scintillant  and  rare, 
Of  all  of  the  brilliants  in  Gaea  that  hide, 

And  the  softening  lustres  testaceans  bear 
In  their  caskets  that  deep  in  the  seas  abide, 

Were  into  one  poem  of  light  to  arise, 

'Twould  be  as  the  moon  to  the  sun  in  thine  eyes. 


If  all  of  the  south-airs  from  blossoming  field, 
That  call  into  life  the  song  of  the  lark  — 

If  the  flowers  themselves  were  their  essence  to  yield, 
That  my  senses  did  never  such  beauty  remark, 

A  quintessence  of  all  would  but  be  an  alloy 

To  the  garden  that  is  in  thy  hair,  my  Joy! 


If  from  all  that  is  beauty  and  all  that  is  fair, 
Could  some  exquisite  Galatea  be  born, 

With  the  zephyr  for  breath,  —  an  ideal  so  rare, 
That  had  failed  e'en  the  poet's  full  mind  to  adorn, — 

Nor  could  envy  my  heart  for  Pygmalion  feel, 

When  I  drink  of  thy  charms,  till  with  excess  I  reel. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  23 


THIS  IS  THE  FLOWER  YOU  GAVE  ME 

THIS  is  the  flower  you  gave  me, 

Plucked  from  its  lowly  bed  — 
To  my  pleadings,  a  light  kiss  as  sequel, 

Then    like    a    gazelle    from    me   fled, 
In  frightened  confusion  and  blushes 

You  sped  thro'  the  slant  afternoon, 
'Cross  the  garden  redolent  of  lilac, 

In  that  whilom,   sweet  blossoming  June. 

These  pages  betwix  have  enfolded 

This  blossom  you  gave  me  that  day, 
As  I  yearned  to  impress  you  so  closely, 

When  from  me  you  fluttered  away. 
Months  —  years  have  elapsed  since  that  twilight, 

(Ah,  the  thought  still  is  lilac-perfumed!) 
And  I  o'er  the  wide  world  have  wandered, 

By  your  haste  and  your  diffidence  doomed: 
But  e'er  thro'  my  dreams  was  the  music 

(Like   robin's  first  pellucid   strain) 
Of  thy  voice,  wafted  over  and  over, 

Till  my  steps  sought  thy  bower  again. 

Then  my  heart   felt  as   earth  looks   in   Springtime' 

In  the  May,  lilac  month  of  the  year; 
Nay,  my  heart,  my  whole  being  seemed  pregnant 

With  a  hope  that  shall  live  or  die  here. 
In  my  dreams,   said  I?  —  and  in  my  wakings, 

Thy  words  and  thy   form  did  confuse, 
As  a  glimpse  of  some  houri  celestial, 

Which  I   felt,  that  I  grasped  for  —  to  lose ! 

And  my  passions  and  faculties  teeming, 

As  I  opened  these  leaves  and  beheld 
Your  present,  sweet  gift  from  the  garden, 

Which  I  fancied  your  favor  impelled  — 


24  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

Would  blot  out  all  else  save  your  image, 
And  my  thoughts,  as  my  steps,  flew  to  thee, 

Only  faster  —  incredibly  faster, 
For  my  pace  covered  ocean  and  lea. 

It  mattered  not  whither  my  footsteps 

Itinerant  turned  to  the  West, 
To  the  South,  or  the  East,  or  the  North  — 

For  my  mind  and  my  body  no  rest. 
In  the  land  of  perpetual  snows, 

In  the  land  of  undying  sun, 
Did  thy  memory  e'er  like  a  phantom  precede 

My  steps,  till  the  journey  was  done. 

And  now  at  your  side  'mong  the  lilacs, 

As  erstwhile  I  wander  again, 
And  my  anguish  and  passion  as  sunlight 

Is  clear,  say  it  be  not  in  vain! 
For  the  scent  of  the  lilacs  inflame  me, 

As  the  perfume  that  floats  from  your  hair  — 
Oh !  your  bosom  is  heaving  —  you  love  me !     .    . 

Let  me  rest  my  head  evermore  there. 


SONNETS 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  MEREDITH 

THE  finished  vehicle,  "  the  gath'ring,  choice, 
Of  languages,"  the  crown  of  human  speech: 
How  he  doth  shape  it  to  the  use  of  each 

And  roll  its  music  to  some  fair  god's  voice. 

Those  mental  phantoms,  that  to  words  are  sealed, 
Which  we  can  feel  but  give  no  body  to, 
Those  vague,  dim  images  that  flitter  thro' 

The  region  of  "fine  shades,"  stand  forth  revealed. 

Interpretative  wizardry  supreme  — 

Nought's  hidden  from  your  comprehensive  art ; 

Surprising  thought  itself  you  give  it  form; 
And  diff'rences  too  delicate  to  seem 
To  have  existence  even  in  the  Heart, 
Here  find  expression  tangible  and  warm. 


SHELLEY 

ACTAEON-LIKE  thou'st  looked  on  Beauty  nude  — 
But  yet  more  fortunate,  and  showed  her  where 
Her  quarry  lay.     And  Titan  on  the  bare 

Caucasian  mount  a  while  of  blind  ingratitude 

Wert  banished,  by  the  jealous  pow'rs  that  stood 
Before  the  gates  of  Light;  but  ent'ring  there 
While  stupor  glazed  their  eyes,  you  caught  the  flare, 

And  bore  to  earth,  which  to  a  beacon  woo'd. 

None  saw  thee  die  —  in  sooth  thou  didst  not  die; 
But  Cleobis  to  blest  Elysium, 

Unconscious  of  all  pain,  wert  carried  thence, 
By  all-approving  Juno  from  on  high, 

For  filial  bearing  Truth,  when  she  would  come 
To  temple  in  men's  souls  —  thy  recompense. 
27 


28  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 


ON  READING  DICKENS 

AFFIXED  with  th'  seal,  the  same  as  scriptures  e'en, 
All  prophet-writ,  inspired  from  on  high, 
Surcharged  with  forces  that  can  never  die  — 

As  patent  to  posterity,  as  green 

As  days  that  hath  the  blest  transcription  seen; 
And  to  Affliction,  in  her  grief  doth  lie 
Divinest  comfort;  to  the  kindly  eye 

Of  Happiness,  a  joy  most  sweet  and  keen. 

Speak'st  thou  of  tears,  the  tears  immediate  flow; 
And  be  there  sympathy  within  thy  heart, 
Then  is  the  soul  of  sympathy  laid  bare: 
Or  humor  lurking  on  Dan  Cupid's  bow 
You  spy  and  joy,  and  roguishly  impart 
To  a  ready  world,  the  blest  infection  there! 


MAURICE  HEWLETT 

I  KNOW  you  not —  your  bulk,  your  self,  your  mien  — 
Your  less  persona  know  I  not,  nor  care ; 
But  that  which  animates  the  mold  —  the  fair, 

Your  greater  all-emblazoning  —  the  keen 

Yet  soft-insighted  kinship  with  the  green 
And  fragrant  nature,  and  her  workings  there 
In  human  breasts, —  your  most  peculiar  care, — 

I  know.     This  all  of  you  I've  met,  serene, 

This  only  consequential,  in  the  white, 
The  silent  forum-square  of  harnessed  thought: 

Before  that  You  I've  sat  far  in  the  night, 

And    learned    some     simple    truths  —  the    difference 

made ; — 
Truths,  which  in  their  simplicity  would  aught 

Had  been  o'erlooked  but  for  your  timely  aid. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  29 


THE  BRIDAL  WREATH 

SWEET  oranges,  tart  apples  and  ripe  pears  — 

All  luscious  fruits  this  wreath  its  presage  makes; 
From  this,  your  bridal  eve,  its  symbol  takes 

Of  fruits  unstinted,  perfect  wedlock  bears. 

But  ware  the  weeds  insidious  and  tares, 
Which  in  the  Garden  sep'rate  interest  wakes 
Of  rapid  growth,  until  their  vile  weight  breaks 

The  shoots,  which  crave  but  sun  and  fost'ring  airs. 

One  love-plant  in  the  garden  of  two  hearts 
Well  nurtured,  in  the  seasons'  round,  creates 

A  paradise  of  undreamed,  flow'ring  trees ; 
Each  in  its  fruit,  a  new-found  joy  imparts  — 
Some  tart,  of  blessed  sting,  the  predicates 
Of  those  more  frequent  joys  which  nod  with  Ease. 


SERIOUS  MELODIES 


AGAMEMNON  TO  THE  ASSEMBLED  HEROES 

COMRADES,  defenders  of  the  common  hearth, 
Assembled  heroes  of  our  scattered  tribes, 
A  common  cause  has  made  us  brothers  more 
An  alien  insult  to  resent  as  one. 
'Tis  not  so  much  the  prize  we  would  regain  — 
For  that  belonged  but  to  a  single  one  — 
The  crime  concerns  us  all:  an  alien  race 
Spits  venom  in  our  face  beneath  a  guise 
Of  Friendship,  and  hurls  defiance  light 
In  broad  abuse  of  hospitality. 

We're  not  a  race  to  sit  supinely  by 

And  see  our  high  prerogatives  denied, 

Or  honor  trampled,  with  impunity ; 

For  are  we  not  of  kings,  and  kings  ourselves, 

With  whom  our  fathers  when  the  Age  was  Gold, 

The  gods  themselves  on  equal  terms  have  striven? 

There  is  an  instinct  in  the  most  of  us 
That  holds  some  things  as  sacred,  and  not  we 
Alone,  but  all  the  world  some  similar  view, 
Hold  fast;  and  as  the  world  grows  on  become 
Our  morals :  those  things  that  our  kind 
Are  not  to  do — the  codes  drawn  up  by  one  consent, 
Or  laws,  or  actions,  speech,  or  thoughts  in  negative: 
For  what  's  devised  and  which  expedient, 
According  as  the  aging  years  have  ordered 
For  common  weal,  to  these  we  all  subscribe.     .     .     . 
Our  usages  have  here  transgressed  been  — 
So  foul  th'  evasion  to  our  practised  aims, 
That  Vengeance  in  her  majesty  stands  up 
And  points  the  way  to  wrong. 

33 


34  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

The  Hellenes  are  brave,  and  yet  we  go 

To  meet  as  brave  a  foe. —  The  tide  of  strife, 

All  fluctuate,  may  not  all  tend  on  strength. 

The  gods  forfend  that  we,  who  are  about 

To  struggle  with  our  bodies  to  the  end, 

At  this  period,  before  their  sacred  fanes 

In  honor  to  them,  should  not  call  down 

Their  sanction  —  their  favor  to  our  cause, 

And  on  our  own  superiority. 

Tho'  be  it  else,  our  text  must  yet  be  this: 

We  fight  to  win,  no  matter  how,  we  must ! 

Hold  fast  the  gods  ye  have,  and  those  ye  lack 

Respect,  conciliate,  to  turn  their  wratfi 

To  mildness, —  for  mortals  cannot  deign 

To  slight  strange  powers  just  because  they're  strange; 

Respect  is  sometimes  greater  far  than  worship, 

In  that  it  gives  an  outside  view  which  worship 

Is  generally  blind  to,  which  oft  in 

The  object  will  inspire  a  tolerance 

And  love  that  's  from  the  worshipper  withheld. 


The  cause  is  ours,  and  tho'  we  may  not  snatch 

The  prize  that  blinded  eyes  unused  to  such, 

But  still  on  conquest  bent  we  sail  the  seas, 

Because  the  gods  have  reason  given  us. 

We  fight  to  win,  and  must,  no  matter  how !  — 

If  that  our  strength  prove  less,  and  numbers  weak, 

Let  Craft  glide  in,  and  Stealth  her  cautious  step 

Make  way  thro'  slumbers  of  the  strong. — We  have 

Among  us  those,  our  brothers,  who  were  known, 

When  wearied  with  the  unavailing  swing 

Of  axe  and  sword,  to  transfer  battle  to  the  realms 

Of  mind  —  the  wily  paths  of  stratagem. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  35 


LAST  WORDS   OF  A  KING  OF  SEA-VIKINGS 

TAKE  thou  my  body  when  its  soul  is  sped  — 
The  unmixed  issue  of  old  vikings,  dead  — 
And  place  me  fair  amidships  on  my  staunch 
And,  to  my  foot,   familiar  vessel —  launch 
My  bier  aquatical  upon  the  deep, 
So  loved  in  life,  that  now  my  heart  doth  weep, 
And  fiercely  crave  its  wild  accustomed  joys, 
No  more  for  me  —  no  more  my  love  employs  ! 


The  long  adventuous  cruise,  no  more,  alas  ! 

The  shooting  thro'  the  fiord  or  the  pass 

Of  rapid  waters  on  to  fair  broad  seas, 

And  catching  in  the  hollow  sail  the  breeze, — 

The  blessed  gods   have  sent, —  and  wafted  far 

To  where  strange  lands  and  much  new  treasures  are, 

In  savage  keeping  so  unfit  to  stay, — 

By  sword  or  barter  vikings  bear  away: 

Rich  stuffs  and  gleaming  stones,  for  one  so  fair, 

A  queen  o'er  many  holms,  with  burnished  hair; 

To  whom  o'erladen  back  the  waves  I'd  curb, 

And  find  my  recompense  in  eyes  superb. 

For  oh !  to  wander  and  afar  to  roam, 

If  only  for  the  joy  returning  home ! 

The  still  night  dash  on  shores  inimical 

No  more !  and  feel  the  mounting  blood  as  fall 

The  battle-axes  on  the  dastard  foe 

And  pirates,  who  the  lone  craft  too  well  know. 

No  more  the  grapple  on  the  deck  to  feel, 

Or  hear  the  crash  immediate  of  steel; 

Or  know  the  shock  of  lance  on  buckler  strong  — 

The  mad  intoxicance,  when  in  the  throng 

The  foe  most  cherished  to  your  heart  alone 


36  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

You  see,  and  being  seen,  the  longing  grown 

To  godlike  passion,  each  to  each  fight  thro' — 

The  meanwhile  shouting  vain  bravadoes  new  — 

And  gain  the  side  of  each,  devoid  of  mace, 

Or  knife,  and  pause,  and  smiling  in  the  face 

Of  each,  while  noting  the  advantage  sought  — 

Then  hugged  so  close,  as  in  a  unit  caught, 

A  limb  to  limb,  a  heart  to  heart,  the  fight 

Not  ours,  but  with  a  personal  delight. — 

Such  strong  attraction  two  in  hate  oft  blends, 

Which  had  been  love,  had  they  but  met  as  friends : 

A  rivalry  to  supersede  in  kind, 

According  as  the  meeting  is  designed. 

Opinion  is  the  line  which  separates 

Our  strong  regard  to  loves,  or  active  hates. 

No  more  the  crash  of  stem  on  stern  pursued, 
Or  feel  the  sting  in  rival's  war-cry  rude; 
Or  know  the  fierce,  wild  joy  when  pressed  to  shore, 
To  turn  the  tide  to  rout  —  no  more,  no  more ! 

So  take  my  body  when  its  soul  is  sped  — 
The  unmixed  issue  of  old  vikings,  dead, — 
Befitting  let  me  lie  in  simple  state, 
Of  nothing  save  my  arms  and  shield  ornate; 
And  place  me  fair  amidships  on  my  staunch 
And,  to  my  foot,  familiar  vessel  —  launch 
My  bier  aquatical  at  ebbing  tide, 
And  let  it  drift  majestic  to  the  wide, 
Unfathomed  West,  when  pales  the  day, 
Whose  lamp  shoots  high  its  occidental  ray. 
Into  its  mighty  silences  sublime 
And  palpable,  unmarked  by  unconscious  time, 
I'll  drift;  the  soft  caressing  swish  of  brine 
Familiar,  'gainst  the  side  of  seasoned  pine, 
Of  my  most  fitting  bier,  my  only  dirge. — 
And  this,  my  mortal  casement,  then  shalt  merge 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  37 

Itself  with  all  that  calm  infinitude 
Of  sensate  mysteries  —  that  far  off  brood 
Eternal  —  and  their  secrets  shalt  they  own 
To  Death,  that  to  the  quick  remain  unknown. 


THE  SONG  OF  OLD  MEN 

OUR  hoary  heads  the  press  of  years  have  borne; 

Our  tired  hands  are  hard  and  labor  worn ; 

Our  feet  are  weak,  and  care  not  for  the  race; 

Our  bodies  slight,  and  wish  nor  power  nor  place. 

Our  eyes  are  dim,  and  see  nor  plain  nor  true 

Those  outward  things,  those  things  we  once  held  to; 

For  they  have  lost  their  charm,  and  caring  not 

For  them  to  longer  see,  our  eyes  forgot 

Their  function  genitive,  relearning  now 

Pre-natal  gifts,  the  gift  to  dream  and  how 

To  see  in  this  rare  twilight  things  within. 

The  more  we  inward  look,  the  more  akin 
To  that  great  Mystery  we  feel,  and  move 
Familiar  in  those  fields  of  dreams,  which  prove 
Not  all  of  dreams,  and  lead  us  to  the  brink 
Of  Prophecy. 

Oh,  days  we  sit  and  think 

Strange  thoughts,  and  wish  for  limbs  and  ways  of  youth 
To  make  them  live.     But  oh,  what  joy  for  Truth 
To  see  behind,  and  not  be  dazzled  by 
Her  goddess  front.     We  have  walked  round  and  nigh 
Her  sat  in  calm.     We  could  not  in  our  prime 
Receive  her  fuller  counsel,  rushing  by, 
Nor  far  off  worshiping  her,  for  our  time 
Was  for  the  outward  look,  and  lofty  eye. 


38  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

Her  eye  is  lofty,  but  her  counsel  low, 
So  low  that  she  will  to  the  hovel  go 
And  be  at  home.    .    .    . 

But  oh,  the  sunlight  here  — 
How  she  doth  love  it.     And  without  a  fear 
For  what's  to  come,  here  we'll  tarry  with  her, 
And  watch  a  few  more  Springs  the  Summer  stir, 
To  fullness;  and  with  Fall's  decrepid  Sun 
Pass  to  our  Winter,  as  the  year  has  done. 

But  'tis  good  to  sit  with  folded  hands  in  rest: 
Our  feet  are  weary  after  the  long  quest; 
Our  heads  are  hoary  with  the  weight  of  years; 
Our  eyes  are  dim,  but  not  the  dim  of  tears: 
For  youth  is  stress,  and  hard  the  fight  oft  goes, 
And  life  is  sweetest  just  before  its  close. 


A  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  SUNSET 

'Tis  autumn  —  and  adown  the  Western  sky, 

Bright  Helios  creepeth  wearily  to  sleep; 

Nor  to  an  ill-earned  rest,  with  radiance  dimmed, 

Doth  he  pursue  his  solitary  way 

His  face  to  hide  beyond  the  horizon. 

But,  yet,  behold !     He  leaves  a  rich  reminder 

Of  his  presence  fading  fast :  for  look  !  —  upon 

The  looming  hills  unto  the  East,  his  smile 

Is  still  perceived  upon  the  peaks  which  seem 

To  swimming  eyes,  a  mass  of  molten  gold. 

And  here,  observe  the  eastern  ether,  where 

Abide  the  lingering  clouds  that  fringe  the  sky  — 

A  fleecy,  closer  sky, —  like  lace  upon 

A  princess'  dainty  kerchief,  all  aglow 

And  painted  by  the  ruddy  brush  of  Sol. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  39 

But  now  a  purple  craft  with  silver  sails, 
Glides  o'er  a  golden  ocean  to  a  port 
Of  lavender; — and  there  a  crimson  curtain 
Parrhasius-like,  some  other  picture  hides. 
And  yet  a  yellow  dragon  picks  his  way 
Along  a  trail  of  blood. 

But  now  these  glories 
Fade,  until  a  numerous  short-lived  shafts 
Of  gold  shoot  upward,  and,  in  their  recess, 
Discover  stars,  tho'  faint,  in  early  eve, 
As  if  to  peep,  before  it  disappear, 
Upon  the  vari-colored  phantomime. 

And  winds,  which  th'  tardy  Summer  had  belated, 
That  all  the  day  had  cycloned  thro'  the  gulches, 
Die  away  with  the  expiring  sun, 
And  leave  the  even  clear,  and  still,  and  calm. 


I. 
NOBLESSE 

AND  not  apart  from  hidden  stress 
Shall  lay  your  ways,  not  all  of  ease, 

But  conscious  joys  must  learn  to  press 
From  out  the  process  meeting  these. 

'Tis  ever  that  the  nature  raised, 
Some  higher  than  an  obvious  scale, 

Is  for  a  higher  tax  appraised 

From  out  its  Fullness  for  the  frail. 


40  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

II. 
ENVOI 

One  life,  one  soul  is  given  each; 

An  even  start. —  With  us  doth  lie 
What  inequalities  we  reach, 

Which  stamp  the  lower  from  the  high. 

And  lacking  judgment  of  our  kind, 
When  isolation  rules  our  course, 

Our  motives  some  sure  level  find: 
We  feel  our  weakness  or  our  force. 


JOHN  HAY 

BEHOLD  !  a  star  peeps  out,  and  in  a  few 

Swift  changes  of  the  moon  becomes  a  sun  — 

A  planet  fixed,  invariable,  undimmed : 

All  others  seem,  in  that  same  firmament, 

But  asteroids,  but  comets,  where  they  shine 

Upon  our  mortal  sight  their  little  day, 

Then  fade  and  die  away:  —  still,  while  they  live, 

The  brightness  of  your  ray  in  a  penumbre 

Envelopes  them,  and  slow  they  circle  'round 

And  'round  the  source,  reflecting  but  the  beam 

That  they  cannot  absorb. 

All  forms  of  worship, 
All  religions,  come  and  go  —  and  some 
Are  now  forgotten ;  and  some,  whose  forms 
Are  still  with  us,  shall  die ;  and  others  shall, 
Upspringing,  hold  their  small  ephemeral  sway, 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  41 

Then  fade  away  and  predecessors  join. 

Yea,  all  shall  die  and  be  forgotten,  save 

That  idle  pantheism  which  had  birth 

In  playful  fancies  when  sad  Sappho  mourned 

In  strophes  that  were  sweeter  far  than  mirth, 

For  Phaon  inconsiderate;  when  blest 

Theocritus  wore  laurels  on  that  brow, 

Whence  emanated  sprightly  thoughts  which  gave 

To  coevals  and  to  posterity, 

Most  sweet,  most  fair,  unpresciented  joys. 

Yea,  all  shall  vanish,  save  this  poetry 

Of  dogma,  and  this  dogmaless  religion, 

That  to  the  skies  hath  been  translated,  where 

No  mortal  with  a  worship  in  his  soul, 

At  night  can  see,  and,  seeing,  worship  not. 


So  you,  in  statesmanship  empyreans, 

With  some  few  chosen  ilk,  will  scintillate 

And  evidence  the  triumph  of  a  skill 

Athwart  the  night  of  years  to  wondering  eyes, 

Who  there  in  vain  shall  strive  to  consummate 

Like  ends,  upon  an  old  and  dry  oblique, 

And  fail :  for  off  the  bright  ecliptic  path 

They've  strayed  —  become  besodden  in  a  mire 

Of  futile  and  polemic  prose,  when  swift 

Their  aims  could  be  encompassed  by  that  ease 

And  poetry  of  worth, —  by  them  contemned 

As  puerile  and  ancient  and  attrite. 

Yea,  when  in  years  to  come,  when  careless  time 

Shall  quench,  obliterate  effulgency 

Of  self-directed  brightness,  then  shalt  gleam, 

With  steady  radiance,  an  orb  of  calm 

And  condign  beam,  in  foremost  rank  aligned, 

Among  his  fellow  stars  —  unquenchable  ! 


42  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 


OVERHEAD  AT  THE  SHRINE 

".    .    .    And  Beauty  is  where  Beauty  most 
Unconscious  of  herself  doth  lie; 

For  she,  like  Worth,  need  never  boast 
To  make  her  patent  to  the  eye. 

"  No  nebula  across  the  face 

Of  Luna,  like  some  mystic  bird, 

Has  passed  unnoted  on  its  race, 

And  left  the  watcher  lone  unstirred. 

"  And  no  iota  of  the  truth, 

In  any  diverse  form  that  springs, 

Is  lost  when  age  supplants  its  youth, 
But  goes  to  swell  the  Soul  of  things: 

"  For  stumbling  on  some  desert  flow'rs, 
Now  withered,  shaking  on  the  stem, 

The  beauty  of  their  early  hours 

You  see  and  scent,  while  spurning  them. 

"  And  Speciousness  may  deck  in  vain 
For  those  who  know  where  Beauty  lies ; 

And  in  Art's  name  she's  doubly  slain, 
When  her  Sham  to  interpret  tries. 

"  In  simple  themes  she  shows  her  face, 
And  coarseness,  leisured,  passing  by, 

So  long  a  stranger  to  her  grace, 
Offends  her  with  a  travesty. 

"  He  loveth  Beauty  most  who  doth 
Most  honor  to  her.     He  who  binds 

Himself  to  her  by  early  troth, 
Her  oracle  himself  he  finds. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  43 

"  And  not  a  life  of  numbered  years 

Lives  Beauty's  prayerful  devotee, 
But  unto  winging  ages  bears 

His   soul's   immortal  constancy.     .     .     ." 


OH,  HOW  I  GRIEVE  FOR  EVERY  SUMMER 

OH,  how  I  grieve  for  every  summer  —  budding  May, 

July's  mature, 
The  fragrance  of  untrodden  byways  —  Oh,  that  these 

things  could  endure ! 

Often  have  I  strolled  with  memory  duplicating  present 

scenes, 
Stretching  arms  out  to  a  picture  of  a  lavish  world  in 

greens : 

Of   a    world,    that    afternoon-time    seems    to   lull,    by 

slumber  won ; 
Silent  in  a  wealth  of  beauty, —  swooning  in  a  golden 

sun. 

Yearning  lone  and  small  to  grasp  her,  or  to  fuse  one's 
soul  with  All ; 

Broken  by  her  stern  indiff' rence,  heeding  but  her  mys- 
tery's call. 

O  days  of  August  and  September,  O   Summer  days ! 

O  Summer  days ! 
The  smiles  you  brought  I  give  you  tears  for  —  the  rare 

may  come,  but  never  stays. 


44     POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 


r  COURAGE 

WORKING    away    without   hope,    toiling    away    in    the 

dark  — 
Nought  to  encourage  you,  all  to  discourage  you, 

Burdened  with  life's  every  cark; 
Few  of  its  joys  and  its  smiles,  no  moment  for  even 

despair ; 
For  sympathy  yearning,  from  toil  to  work  turning  — 

This  only  are  few  made  to  bear: 
The  few  most  selected  of  Fate,  whose  hearts  hear  their 

destiny's  cry; 
For  Work's  sake  just  working,  with  brave  soul   un- 

shirking  — 
This,  this  is  of  courage  most  high. 

A  SPRING  SONG 

IN  my  heart  I  hear  a  calling  — 

Voices  soft  that  sing; 
And  I  scent  an  air  enthralling, 

With  its  joyous  sting: 
"  To  the  wildwood,"  is  the  burden  — 

"  Fields  are  bourgeoning ;  " 
And  they  lay  on  me  and  girden 

All  my  soul  with  Spring ! 
Spring,  Spring,  rapturous  Spring! 

Birds  from  the  South  on  the  wing; 
Spring,  Spring,  ecstasy  bring, 

Palpitant,  clamorous  Spring! 

Hear   the   cataracts'   wild    thunder  — 

"  Spring  is  here  !  "  they  shout ; 
And  the  violets  meek  from  under 

Grasses  new  look  out. 
At  my  heart  I  feel  the  message  — 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  45 

There  I  hear  her  song, 
Seeking  newer  things  that  presage 

Her,  I  rush  along ! 
Spring,   Spring,  rapturous   Spring ! 
«  Birds  from  the  South  on  the  wing; 

Spring,  Spring,  ecstasy  bring, 

Palpitant,  clamorous  Spring ! 

THE  HEART'S  WINTER 

As  is  the  earth,  my  hopes  are  buried  under 
Ice  and  hard  snow  and  skies  unpromising; 

Bleak  desolation  and  the  ill-wind's  plunder  — 
Earth  and  my  soul  are  one  in  their  lost  Spring. 

And  as  the  earth,  benumbed  and  prone  and  cheerless, 
Must  dream  of  late  importunating  flowers, 

Though  Hope  is  dead,  her  sighs  breathed  for  the  peer- 
less, 
Warms  not  to  nearness  snowy-leaden  hours. 

So  with  my  heart,  where  late  and  lone  supreme  you 
Grew  and  were  all  —  how  vanished,  oh,  how  gone  ! 

Though  in  the  blankness,  cold,  I  still  can  dream  you  — 
Shall  my  heart  see  a  Summer  further  on? 

DESTINY 

WHERE  the  surf  breaks  in  white  flakes, 

Along  a  rugged  shore, 
Where  the  rock  strips,  of  wrecked  ships, 

At  low  tide  show  a  score; 
On  a  point,  bare  —  remote,  where 

The  wind  has  never  died, 
Stand  a  lost  pair,  a  girl,  fair  — 

A  man,  borne  to  her  side : 


46  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

A  thousand  leagues  between  them  lay  when  first  they 

put  to  sea; — 
Two  wrecks  have  made  them  one  upon  this  shore  of 

destiny. 

In  a  dense  square,  a  worn  pair 
Were  passing  on  their  way, 
And  by  mere  chance,  a  quick  glance 

They  each  exchanged  that  day; 
But  the  swift  throng,  its  tide  strong, 

Had  swept  them  far  apart  — 
Yet  a  hope  lies  in  lone  eyes 
That  daily  scan  the  mart: 
And  when  hope  faded,  sick  in  souil,  for  health  they  seek 

the  sea; 

A  white-winged  ship  on  summer  waves,  its  deck  their 
destiny. 


HURRIED  LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  OFFICE 


To  F C . 

THE  test  of  Friendship  is  the  test  of  Time; 
The  years  are  hers,  but  moments  e'er  suffice 
To  bribe  the  rest.     For  those  that  sing  in  rhyme 
With  one's  own  soul,  its  melodies  entice. 

The  sands  of  Time  run  slowly  out  and  leave 
A  residue  of  hope : —  the  hope  that  turns 
To  those  that  nearer  stand  in  subtle  weave 
Of  understanding,  that  the  full  soul  learns. 

The  champac  odors  of  an  eastern  glade 
Bring  thoughts  of  passion  and  the  short  night's  thrill; 
The  wild  thyme  of  the  hills,  in  fragrance  staid, 
We  calmly  gather  to  be  sensed  at  will. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  47 

The  rose-red  pleasures  of  the  fleeting  year 
Pass  on  with  those  that  o'er  the  moments  reign; 
The  hours  of  laughter  are  to  Friendship,  dear, 
As  gaudy  blooms  to  amarinth's  unchange. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  KING 
i. 

I  GAZE  o'er  the  desert,  the  valleys  and  sea  — 

I  note  the  approach  of  the  storm ; 
I  hear  the  winds  roar,  as  they  sweep  the  land  o'er  — 

I  watch  the  black  clouds  as  they  form : 
I  peer  as  they  gather  in  battle  array, 

And  deafening  echoes  I  ring, 

To  the  thunder's  loud  clash,  and  the  lightning's  bright 
flash,— 

For  I  am  the  Mountain  King! 

2. 

I  greet  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  on  his  rise, 

While  still  the  world  darkened  doth  lie ; 
My  towering  peak  the  wild  eagles  seek, — 

Majestic  and  rugged  as  I. 
All  day  they  will  soar  in  search  of  their  prey, 

And,  burdened  at  dusk,  homeward  wing: 
And  the  sun  in  the  West  looks  his  last  on  the  crest 

Of  the  hoary  Mountain  King. 


Sometimes  a  mere  mortal  to  scale  my  face  tries  — 

Then  is  my  great  heart  on  fire: 
I  quiver  and  shake,  his  destruction  to  make, 

And  bury  him  under  my  ire. 


48  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

And  e'en  the  wild  beasts  that  prowl  on  my  slopes, 
Give  voice  to  the  fears  that  tipspring 

In  them  as  they  flee,  when  my  passions  I  free  — 
For  I  am  the  Mountain  King! 


LOW  IN  THE  WEST  CREEPS  THE  SUN 

A  Lullaby 

Low  in  the  West  creeps  the  sun  — 
Creep  to  your  nest,  little  one; 
Creep  with  the  birds  into  rest, 
Peacefully  sink  into  sleep  on  my  breast. 
Softly  the  wind  f alleth  down ; 
Still  are  the  birds  in  the  crown 
High  in  the  elm  trees,  and  calm 
Settles  the  night  like  a  balm. 

Tight  in  my  bosom  you're  pressed, 

Foundling  of  Love's  gentle  quest; 

Deep  in  my  bosom  you  go, 

Deep  as  Love's  voice  to  the  ear,  soft  and  low. 

Father  will  bend  o'er  thee  soon, 

When  on  the  hill  shines  the  moon; 

Peacefully  sleep,  little  one, 

Slumber,  the  day  now  is  done. 


IGNIS  FATUUS 

COME  wreathe  the  world  in  light, 
And  let  the  stars  sing  for  me; 

There  is  no  gloom  like  night, 
Where  Love's  light  fails  to  be. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  49 

Give  o'er  the  dreams  of  high  emprise, 
There  are  less  lonely  paths  and  green ; 

The  daylight  in  the  valley  lies  — 
A  kingdom  where  you'll  reign  as  Queen. 

Give  o'er  the  dreams  of  high  emprise  — 

Your  kind  in  vanity  is  mired; 
This  ignis  fatuus  will  rise 

To  taunt  some  others  less  desired. 

Give  o'er  the  hectic  flush  of  strife  — 

Your  kind  is  steeped  in  vanity ; 
A  woman  cannot  live  man's  life 

And  keep  her  woman's  sanity. 

The  sex  is  marked,  her  duties  planned  — 
Preserve  such  loveliness  in  sphere : 

Let  shine  so  that  it  will  command, 
Its  due  respect  and  proper  fear. 

Come,  follow  me,  fair  brave, 

And  following,  I  follow  thee. 
There  still  is  time  to  save 

A  Queen  to  some  strong  race  to  be. 

WHEN  LIFE  WAS  ALL  A  DREAM 

As  the  years  advance  and  age  creeps  on  towards  night, 
And  the  light  begins  to  fade  in  eyes  once  bright, 
Then  the  thoughts  of  youthful  days  the  mem'ry 

crowd — 

When  Life's  broad  skies  were  blue  without  a  cloud. 
In  the  heart  was  ever  one  on  high  enthroned, 
And  to  that  image  every  thought  was  toned ; 
And  all  was  joy,  so  fleeting  that  it  seemed 
A  paradise  not  lived,  but  only  dreamed. 


Tho'  the  hallowed  past  is  gone  beyond  recall, 
Yet  a  fond  regret  at  times  o'ershadows  all; 
For  we  think  that  if  the  sun  of  youth  was  high 
Again  for  us,  no  cloud  would  stud  the  sky. 
And  the  joys  omitted  in  our  youthful  haste, 
We'd  have  them  in  a  rosy  setting  placed; 
But  fond  regret  will  ever  tinge  the  theme 
Of  thoughts  of  days,  when  Life  was  all  a  dream. 


INSCRUTABLE  PROVIDENCE 

IF  pleasures  were  not  moulded  in  pain, 

But  pain  in  pleasure, 
We'd  be  apt  to  count  our  sorrows  the  gain, 

And  joy  the  measure. 

So  providence,  inscrutable,  wise, 

For  every  pleasure  blest, 
Inserts  the  thorns  in  various  guise 

To  give  our  joys  more  zest. 


A  WINTER  SCENE 

FAR-FLUNG  the  ermine  mantle  covers  Earth, 
So  lately  nude.     All  previous  lay  her  trove 
Till  Night  from  out  her  dark  recesses  wove 

The  velvet  fabric  for  her  northern  ^girth. 

The  envious  Dawn  the  veil  of  clouds  away 
Strips  mightily,  and  streaks  with  fiery  red 
The  shimmering  whiteness  Night  so  softly  shed, 

Until  it  seems  as  if  the  Night  by  Day 

Fresh  slain,  were  crimsoning  the  world  with  blood 
From     new-made     wounds.     .     .     .     Her     low'ring 
hand-maids  fly, 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  51 

Aiid  solider,  from  his  cold  sparkling  eye, 
Earth  folds  her  spotless  robe  in  gratitude. 

Hark !  on  the  frosty  air  is  wafted  low, 
But  keen  and  far,  the  rhythmic  jingle-ling 

Of  lively  bells,  and  o'er  the  firm  hard  snow, 
The  crunching  hoofs  and  easy  runners  sing. 


THINK  not  of  me:    .    .    . 

Though  'tis  my  fate  to  swing  perpetual  censers  here 

Before  thy  shrine  on  Memory's  altar,  surely  some  old 

kindly  god 

From  you  will   ineffectual   rememberings   forfend. 
The  ghost  of  that  pure  loveliness  that  was  your  smile, 
The  light  enveloping  your  wondrous  grace  of  move- 
ment, 

Like  some  embodied  song,  transcends   all  thoughts, 
And  gilds  the  wings  of  loveless  hours.     .     .     . 

I  have  no  joy  save  in  the  torture  of  the  memory  of 
you !     .    .     . 

Oh !  the  delight  of  many  perfect  days  that  glided 

Into  still  more  perfect  nights  — 

How  gone  —  how  wholly  gone ! 

When  to  that  fair,  far  planet  polyonomous 

We  lifted  careless  eyes  and  wondered  if  the  sighs  we 

sent  her 

Were  as  musical  and  weighted  as  those  which  proved 
The  anarchist  to  time-old  thrones !     .     .     . 
How  little  heeded  was  the  Muses'  presence; 
How  little  guessed  a  haunting  analogue. 


52  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

Change  tears  asunder  and  one  heart  is  twain : 
Recollection,  only  recollection,  with  Tantullus  unquiet; 
This,  and  vain  regrets  for  beauty  lost. 
I  feel  like  Pan  long  standing  in  the  far,  dim  solitude 
Of  Delphian  nights,  with  eyes  unswerving  on  a  star 
That    harbors    some    bright,    whilom    companionable 

nymph.     .     .     . 

How  like  careless  children  in  a  violet  dell 
Did  we  talk  and  dream  of  storied  bliss, 
Set  in  some  ancient  frame; 
Unheeding  golden  hours  and  the  living  of  a  tale. 

The  classic  dews  that  drenched  anemones  beside  a 
Grecian  pass 

Were  like  to  these  —  but  not  more  fair; 

The  note  of  some  Illyrian  bird  was  not  more  sweet 
than  those  we  heard, 

When  through  the  yesteryear  we  floated  in  a  close- 
held  dream, 

Unmindful  of  the  dream  in  the  living  of  it. 

How  touched  with  fancy  in  an  irreclaimable  remote- 
ness 

Looms  common  beauties : 

Oh,  that  our  beauties'  faults  should  be  their  fre- 
quency !  .  .  , 

How  pales  an  Helen's  name,  an  aspect  of  the  sea 

Personified  in  Attic  imagery; 

The  pride  of  Elusinian  victors,  the  undercurrent  amour 
smiling  through; 

The  catch  of  breath  at  pictured  Delos  swimming 

In  ethereal  purple,  bearing  the  twin  hope 

Of  Song,  of  Fancy  and  of  Dreams  — 

With  a  coronal  of  ecstasy,  and  a  legacy  of  thrills  — 

(All,  all,  sad,  sweet  things  of  eld,  and  the  Wraith  of 
raptures  dead)  — 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  53 

Beside  the  Real,  the  poignant  Now,  that  'tis  gone  — 

with  you ! 

How  vexatious  to  the  living  grasp  —  the  Real 
Is  only  when  'tis  past.     .     .     .     Oh,  mortal  fate,  alas ! 
That  cannot  live  Romance,  but  only  remember  it. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  BELL 


IN  my  eyrie  I  have  swung, 
Since  this  village,   old,  was  young; 
Wild  alarum's  notes  I've  raised, 
When  destroying  fires  blazed; 
And  with  cadence  soft  and  calm, 
Muffled  and  with  measured  balm, 
For  the  wearied,  passing  soul 
To  its  rest,  I  sadly  toll. 

And  here  I  cling,  and  swing,  and  ring, 

W'ith  tidings  of  great  glee; 
Or  to  and  fro,  and  sad  and  slow, 

I  voice  the  grief  in  me : 
Ding  dong,  ding  dong  —  I  sing  my  song, 

Or  beat  a  measured  toll; 
Now  for  the  bride,  in  maiden  pride, 

Now  for  the  passing  soul. 


II 


But  a  merry  tune  I  ring, 
And  the  mellow  echoes  fling, . 
While  the  wedding  cortege  stands 
Near  the  pledge  of  hearts  and  hands. 


54  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

And  across  the  angry  sea, 

Where  the  storm-tossed  sailors  be, 

Harsh  and  loud  I  raise  my  cry: 

"  Treach'rous  rocks  are  nigh  —  are  nigh." 

And  far  and  near,  distinct  and  clear, 

O'er  ocean,  town  and  glen, 
I  raise  a  peal  of  woe  or  weal, 

To  suit  the  moods  of  men. 
Ding  dong,  ding  dong — I  sing  my  song, 

A  jingle  or  a  knell; 
Joyous  and  glad,  sublime  or  sad, 

I  sing  the  song  of  the  bell. 


"CRAMMING" 

WHAT  is  all  this  I  hear  about  "  Cram  "  ?  — 
"  The  schools  now  are  cramming  too  much ; 

My  children   can't   stand  the  curriculum's   jam- 
Their  strength  is  not  equal,"  and  such. 

Think  you  a  brain  an  empty  room  is, 
In  which  you  can  pack  just  so  much; 

And  measured  for  that,  and  measured  for  this 
Upstacked,  till  the  ceiling  they  touch? 

That  spaceless  room,  it  cannot  be  filled, 

Tho'  laziness  fains  you  'tis  full: 
Betrayed,   oh,   are  we,   our  ambition  is   stilled 

By  indolence's  gentle  pull. 

Blessed  is  he  a  stern  mentor  has  — 

His  nature  or  willful  or  led, 
Will  yet  in  his  youth,  it  may  come  to  pass, 

Get  inclines  to  where  titans  tread. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  55 

Oh,  bad  enough,  when  you're  your  own  ward, 

Is  blinding  indifference  to  lore, 
But  when  unformed  minds  you  have  under  your  guard 

And  sanction  their  puerile  war, 

Capacity's  killed,  and  habits  of  reach  — 

The  habits  of  reaching  above 
For  Flowers  of  Thought  for  the  Vase  —  you  impeach, 

And  murder  and  maim,  where  you  love. 

Countenance  not  the  sweet,  siren  voice, 
That  you  know  enough  for  your  use: 

If  in  it  you  can't  with  the  Eagle  rejoice, 
Take  care  that  you  be  not  a  Goose. 

The  Eagle  is  keen,  and  the  Owl,  wise  — 

Yet  others  beneath  emulate; 
While  trying  your  wings,  pray  you  not  to  devise 

For  your  feather  an   Ostrich's  pate : 

And  sinking  there  in  sands  of  conceit  — 

Or  self-satisfied  mud  —  your  head, 
That  hunters  for  worth  may  guffaw  at  your  feet, 

And  take  you  all  unprepared. 


THE  TOREADOR 

AMID  the  uproar'ous  din  come  the  piccadores  in, 

With   hearts   beating  high ; 
And  in  the  expectant  lull,  ope  the  gates  and  the  bull 

Asnort  rushes  by. 
See  how  his  eye  flashes  fire, 
As  on  they  goad  him  to  ire, 
All  around  the  bloody  space,  at  a  furious  pace, 

Till  the  toreador  in  splendor  draws  nigh. 


56  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

How  deft  ev'ry  charge  he  evades  of  the  bull  in  his 

raids, 

When  hard  he  is  press'd; 
But  soon  will  his  Toledo  steel,  the  bull's  mad  career 

seal, 

With  Love's  favors  dress'd: 
Then  in  the  thick  of  the  cheering, 
Finds  he  the  glance  most  endearing, 
From  the  eyes  that  softly  speak,  all  he  cares  there 

to  seek  — 
To  the  toreador  that  victory  is  best. 


'S  APOSTROPHE  TO  DIAN 
i. 

AT  eve  I  scan  the  heavenly  clan 

Thy  gleaming  form  to  find; 
And  thro'  the  night,  thy  radiance  bright 

A  pathway  trails  behind; 
And  as  you  blaze  your  silver  rays 

Across  yon  astral  fare, 
You  light  my  way,  with  twilight  day, 

For  mortals  that  I  bear: 
As  steering  homeward  'cross  the  sea 
Rely  upon  the  stars,  and  thee ! 

2. 

And  as  you  swing,  constellars  sing 

Celestial  lullabies;  — 
A  meteor  flings  its  myriad  wings, 

And  to  thy  bosom  flies. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  57 

I'  thy  soft  spell  I,  Endymion  lie  — 

To  thy  pale  caress  I  rise; 
And  my  solitudes,  where  the  ringdove  broods, 

Is  musical  with  sighs, 
Of  those  ilk-tinged  souls  that  seem 
To  haunt  thy  sacred  fanes,  and  dream. 


And  you  behold,  when  shades  enfold 

My  airs  impalpable, 
The  countless  sights  I  yield  o'  nights, 

Which  Sol  's  incapable. 
The  wilderness,  'neath  thy  caress, 

An  incense  wafts  to  thee ;  — 
Fantastic   tones,    which   day   disowns, 

Takes  on  each  shrub  and  tree : 
And  only  with  pigments  of  shadow  and  light, 
Delineate  traceries  all  through  the  night. 


4- 

By  Venus  gleaming,  with  love-light  teeming, 

Thy  entrance  is  proclaimed ; 
By   Jupiter  —  still   statelier  — 

Thy  exit  's  far  declaimed. 
With  gentle  glance,   as  you  advance 

To  thy  egressal  dawn, 
From  out  the  skies  dost  thou  apprise 

Thy  kin,  the  starry  spawn : 

For  the  Lord  of  the  heavens  must  rule  supreme, 
With  his  greater  light  and  ardent  beam ! 


58     POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 


And  nights  uncertain,  when  a  curtain 

Across  the  sky  is  flung, 
Which  hides  thy  vision  in  the  Elysian, 

Where  evermore  it  hung, 
That  tender  ether  —  my  fair  wreather  — 

Grows  chill  in  thy  disdain; 
And  bright  Aurora  finds  my  flora 

Drenched  in  tears  of  rain. — 
Tho'  Uranus  yesterday  even  was  pied 
Wi'  thy  kin,  in  a  Stygian  hue  now  is  dyed. 


6. 

Majestic  queen!  from  thee  I  glean, 

Beneath  thy  radiant  smiles, 
A  light  as  chaste,  as  that  which  graced 

The   legendary   isles. 
I  watch  thy  light  fade  with  the  night, 

But  my  expectant  gaze, 
Divinity,  next  eve  will  see 

You  mount  your  orbed  ways :  — 
A  Nike  in  chariot  sped  thro'  the  sky, 
To  conquer  the  darkness  of  evening  —  and  die! 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  OF  EASE 

To  doze  and  dream  in  the  firelight's  gleam, 

A  book  of  verse  upon  the  lap; 
A  sonnet  read,  a  lyric  scanned, 
Contentment  in  each  castle  planned; 

A  drowsy  lull,  a  nod,  mayhap — 
A  dream  in  rhythm,  ryhthm's  dream. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  59 

What  smiles  from  out  the  soul  o'erflow, 

Transforming  features  that  without 
So  short  a  while  ago,  unblest, 

Austere  and  fixed  by  many  a  doubt,  — 
Now  godlike  'neath  the  firelight  glow 
(To  doubt  and  care  the  alkahest) 
That  are  to  mortal  eyes  unknown  — 
And  conscious-caught  but  leave  their  throne : 
Mind-flow'rs  foredoomed,  unmarked,  to  die, 
Smile-elves  that  on  a  rustle  fly: 
The  which  resembling  practised  smile 
As  fairies  to  this  fleshy  pile. 

The  wine  of  song,  romance's  touch, 
The  gleam  of  fire  enhances  much : 
For  in  the  Winter  nested  snug, 
Enthroned  upon  the  hearthstone  rug, 
When  winds  howl  outward,  Fancy's  Spring 
Surpasses  even  Nature's  thing. 

The  veiled  note  of  thrush  is  heard, 
(No  note  so  sweet  as  Fancy's  bird!) 
And  blossoms  burgeoning  the  fields 
Imaginary  perfume  yields. 

The  chivalry,  the  loves  of  eld, 
From  poets  into  song  have  well'd; 
And  e'er  the  theme  will  tinge  the  dream 
That  comes  before  the  firelight's  gleam. 

But  give  the  laurel  unto  him  — 

Not  that  he  sings  a  stirring  deed  — 
But  that  he  so  usurp  the  whim 

Of  who  the  strophies  lilt  and  read, 
With  such  abandon  that  himself 
Become  the  storied  prince  or  elf. 


60  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

Vicarious  pleasures,  negative, 

Appeal  more  to  the  mind, 
Than  positive,  affirmative, 

So  easier  to  find : 
For  who  can  purchase  that  sixth  sense, 

The  faculty  to  feel 
What  others  dreamed  in  moments  tense, 

That  we  enjoy  as  real? 

Who  cares  for  action? — let  him  act 

Who  for  discomfort  craves; 
Our  lives  of  needed  ease  is  sack'd 

By  being  action's  slaves : 
Perform  we  may  and  still  complain 

Denied  the  pause  that  's  yearned, 
But  ne'er  quiescency  disdain 

Which  doing  well  has  earned. 
For  only  those  in  action  keep 

Most  clayey  as  to  mind; 
And  they  alone  all  free  from  sleep 

Enjoy  what  gods  designed. 

For  ever  ease  has  sired  calm 

And  grave,  serene  philosophies; 
E'er  nursed  'neath  brooding  Musa's  balm 

Nepenthe,  are  her  poesies: 
Nor  slothful  ease  of  bland  desires, 

Devoid  of  aspiration's  leaven, 
But  ease  of  quintessential  fires 

Whose  spell-born  fruits  reach  up  to  heaven. 

TREAD  LIGHTLY  ON  THIS   SPOT 

TREAD  lightly  on  this  spot ! 

And  o'er  that  raised  mound,  I  pray  you,  stumble  not : 
For  here  lies  one  who  fought  the  Fight  and  lost  — 
A  puny  Fame  the  stake,  his  life  the  cost. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  61 

Oh,  when  will  humankind  their  interests  separate, 

From  drudgery  of  work,  from  earliness  of  Fate? 

He  slaved  all  out  of  time, 

He  died  whilst  yet  in  early  prime; 

He  tried  to  force  the  fame 

That  fitted  best  with  riper  years, 
By  striving  their  late  Work  to  do. — The  Game 

He    sought    to    take    devours    him    behind,    while 
straight  in  front  he  peers. 

Tread  lightly  on  this  spot !     .     .     . 

The  rains  that  percolate  to  where  his  Mother's  bosom 

hot 

Has  him  so  close  and  irrevocably  in  hold, 
Can    now   no    furthermore   affect   the   temper    of   his 

mould, 

Save  to  accelerate  with  its  insidious  rot, 
Its  seeming  to  the  substance  of  his  universal  cot. 

Ah,  yes,  tread  lightly  on  this  spot, — 

And,  near  around  so  far  the  hedges  stretch,  do  not 

With    levity   this    calm   enjoyable   of    Silence    and   of 

Grief 
Disturb !    to   dissipate   its   sweet   and   grave   influence 

brief. 

Few  who  may  stand  in  summertime  in  such  a  place, 
Behind  an  olden  church,  with  such  an  ancient  grace, 
As  if  it  stood  in  such  a  gentle  town, 
In  such  a  dreamy  street  forever,  and  disown 
A  thrill  of  this?     Its  very  Silence  speaks 

And,  with  the  heavy  fragrance  of  its  plants,  breathes 

of  another  world. 

And  here  the  dew,  that  longer  all  the  flora  pearled 
Most   emulative  of  those  human  tears,  to  them  well 
known,  at  even  sooner  seeks. 


62  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

But  stay !  see  where  she  slowly  nears ; 

The  tottering  gate   she  opes,   comes   through, 
All  in  her — soon,  too  soon  ! — her  widow's  weeds,  while 

tears 

Her  meshy  veil,  voluminous,  bedew. 
She  kneels  (off  in  our  corner,  contemplative,  screened 

By  rhododendron  bushes,  kneel  we  too), 
And  lifts  her  sombre  front  of  woe,  that  weaned 

The  sun  of  Joy  from  features  early  taught  to  woo 
The  ever  grave  demeanor  of  a  sorrow's  brooding  look. 
She  gazes  for  a  time  on  that  raised  book. 
And  then  its  volume  green  she  clasps,  and  soft 
And  shaken  come  the  sobs,  that  now  her  breast's  ac- 
quainted much  too  oft: 

"O  Father,  why,  O,  why  in  his  Ambition's  prime, 
After  in  this  bosom  trusting  him  so  short  a  time, 
With  all  his  aims,  his  goodnesses  and  faults, 
Why  tak'st  thou  him  from  me? — that  taking  halts 
And  makes  me  more  than  Dead,  for  I 
No  further  look  with  outward  view,  but  sit  with  in- 
ward eye. 

O  God,  I  know  he  did  transgress  thy  natural  laws 
By  too  much  earth-ambition, — gave  thy  time  of  rest 

to  it,  because 
Of  it  it  was   a  part;  unquenchable   endeavor  in  his 

bosom  burned, 
Not  only  in  that  part  allowed,  but  the  whole   Circle 

turned 

He  into  it:  and  yet  thou  gav'st  him  Death. 
O  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  he  was  my  daily  breath, 
(Such  strange  air  do  some  women  breathe,  that  none 

Can  see  what  keep  their  love  alive!) 
Yet  Thou — Thou  took'st  him,  God,  because  he  was  my 

Sun. 

And  I,  idolatrous,  did,  watching  o'er  him,  thrive 
And  grow  in  stature.    .    .     .    O  God!  where'er  he  is 
would  I 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  63 

Be  with  him  now,  tho'  in  the  earth  or  sky ! 
Omniscient,  O,  Almighty  Cruelty !  him  give  me  back, 

I  pray  — 
No,  I  demand !  —  Thou  — "     Come,  O,  come  away. 


SPECULATION 

IF  in  the  eve  of  love,  when  Love  loves  love  a-dying, 
I   should  draw   nigh  to  you,   as   nigh   as  young  love 

sighing, 
And  as  you  drew  life  from  my  lips,  you  drew  love 

flying- 
How  would  love  meet  with  death? 


In  all  the  cosmos  there  must  be  a  sequent  ending 
To  each  beginning;  but  how  endeth  love?     Befriend- 
ing— 

Denying  or  defying,  in  o'erripe  contending?  — 
Fond  love  how  perisheth? 

Of  all  who  here  hath  suffered  love  who  can  who  shall 

tell, 
How   Love's    fond   heav'n   declined   into   its   practical 

hell; 

How  came,  how  endeth  and  how  when  its  coronal  fell 
With  Death  into  the  past? 

When  thinking  of   't  when   scarce   a  yellowing  year 

confesses 

The  thrill  of  passion,  wine  that  dewy  lips  impresses  — 
Now  lost  to  savour  in  the  fragrance  of  new  tresses, — 
How  pleads  in  vain  the  last! 


64  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 

How  can  the  Soul  but  change  when  Love  rules  all  her 

actions 

Since  ever  when  he  met  her  on  the  height,  distractions 
Drave  her,  ere  darkness   dawned  upon  the  world  in 

fractions, 
And  housed  her  in  his  manse? 

Like  he  who  invites  pity  and  contempt  receiving, 
He  who  stands  round  and  beckons  Love  entraps  de- 
ceiving 

Uncouth  self-love;  for  Love  is  never  coaxed,  believing 
In  lodgment  but  by  chance. 


SONG  TO  PROMETHEUS  IN  WINTER 

OF  Eld  there  came  a  cruel  voice  rushing, 

Uncertain,  with  an  undisputed  ban, 
O'er  smiling  heaths  and  thro'  dim  forests  pushing 

His  hard  implacable  sovran. 
"I  am  Winter,  and  my  pact  with  Winds 

Runs   on  till   Hecate's  release."  — 
And  men  crouched  trembling,  and  with  stricken  minds 

They  sacrificed  to  soften  Dis. 

But  one  who  walked  with  gods  rebellious 

'Gainst  vengeance  on  a  race  so  weak, 
Heaven's   anodyne   stole,   infidelious, 

And  gave  it  men,  and  suffered  on  the  peak. 
Of  old  the  icy  lips  are  wide  to  sift 

Bleak  desolation  on  a  happy  earth, 
And  frighten  and  dismay.  —  But  men  catch  up  the  gift 

And  his  sharp  breath  unedge,  'mid  peals  of  mirth. 


LIGHTER  VERSE 


LAMENT  OF  THE  UNIVERSAL  LOVER 

(Ballade.) 

OH  !  what  a  lot  of  beauty  flashes 

On  our  sight,  from  day  to  day; 
See  how  it  thro'  December  splashes, 

Or  calmly  strolls  thro'  sunny  May. 

It  keeps  you  turning  on  your  way, 
To  see  it  all,  if  you'd  miss  none: 

How  cruel  the  Fates  —  or  laws  —  that  say, 
Of  all  these  I  may  have  but  one ! 

If  I  should  wed,  reduced  to  ashes 

Are  my  hopes,  if  ill  we  fay; 
Or  fadge  we  well,  yet  Hymen's  lashes 

Hold  me  from  this  one  to  stray. 

And  if  I  prove  not  constant  aye, 
That  monster,  Law,  will  prove  no  fun : 

How  sad  the  dirge  to  me  alway  — 
Of  all  these  I  may  have  but  one ! 

And  if  one  single  stays,  he  dashes 

Free  to  look  as  much  he  may; 
And  free  to  make  as  many  mashes, 

As  the  kind  Fates  to  him  play. 

But  in  this  free-and-easy  way, 
Might  he  not  miss  a  brilliant  Sun, 

While  hiding  self  'neath  manners  gay  ?  — 
Of  all  these  he  may  have  but  one. 

L'envoi. 

So  must  we  choose,  and,  choosing,  stay 

In  wedlock,  or  in  bachelordom. 
We  want  them  all,  so  sweet  are  they !  — 

Of  all  these  we  may  have  but  one. 
67 


68  POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON 


SOCIETY'S  REPLY 

("  Society  doesn't  realize,  or  care  to  realize,  that  it 
sets  the  example  and  other  foolish  people  lower  down 
in  the  social  scale  follow  its  lead.  .  .  .  The  women 
can  be  seen  in  all  the  fashionable  restaurants  affected 
by  the  "  smart  set "  drinking  intoxicating  liquors,  not 
only  when  with  male  escorts,  but  without  .  .  .  ." 
A  prominent  clergyman.) 

WE  set  the  example !  —  Oh,  do  we  ?  —  what  fun ! 

But  we  the  job  strongly  contemn: 
To  jobs  some  are  born  and  achieve  others  one, 

And  some  have  them  thrust  upon  them. 

You  say  we  indulge  in  the  wine-cup  too  freely, — 

But  who'd  be  a  recharbite  saint? 
You  say  that  we  women  are  tanks:  —  well,  we  really 

And  truly  assure  we  ain't. 

We  move  in  a  sort  of  theatrical  glare: 

A  cham.  glass  appears  like  a  tub; 
And  lenses  are  leveled  continually  there  — 

We  know  it,  forsooth,  "  there's  the  rub." 

We  all  have  our  foibles  —  of  course  magnified 

By  jealous  onlookers  are  ours; 
But  just  one  faux  pas  from  the  place  where  we're  tied, 

And  the  world  is  apprised  in  two  hours. 

You  charge  us,  we  notice,  with  being  immoral, 

And  worshipping  idols  of  "  Dust." 
Oh,  no,  while  some  of  us  may  be  —  er  —  unmoral, 

We're  never  the  former,  we  trust. 


POEMS  BY  CAMPBELL  MASON  69 

Now  when  slightest  actions  are  watched  every  hour, 

One  surely  will  "  show  off  "  a  bit : 
If  we'd  find  us  playing  to  empty  seats,  our 

Desire  to  do  things  would  flit. 


EILEEN 

A  LASSIE  transported  from  Munster's  green  sod, 
Has  hit  me  right  here,  and  she's  hit  hard,  b'  God! 
Her  father's  from  Dublin,  her  mother's  from  Cork  — 
They  jumped  on  a  steamer  and  landed  in  York. 
The  blood  of  ould  Ireland's  kings  flows  in  her  veins  — 
The  wee  little  foot  av  her  just,  when  it  rains, 
That's  peekin'   so  dainty  when  she  lifts  her  skirts, — 
And  the  thought  that  she  isn't  mine  yet  is  what  hurts. 

Some  tell  me  that  Frinch  gurls  is  what  takes  the  prize: 
Just  wan  look  at  Eileen  and  France  you'll  despise. 
And  some  like  a  Dutch  or  a  plump  German  frau; 
But  up  ag'inst  Eileen  they'd  dwindle,  I  vow. 
And  if  she  refuses  her  honest  spalpeen, 
When  he  on  his  knees  sez,  "  Come  be  my  coleen ! " 
No  charms  in  another  could  I  iver  see, 
'Twould  then  be  the  same  if  I  wed  a  Chinee. 


THE    END 


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